Held For Ransom
by Sarlinia-Grace-Starstriker
Summary: The Blood Elf child, Sarlin, is held for ransom by the cousins of her adoptive mother, Lydia Starstriker. They say Lydia possesses a costly heirloom and knew that their only chance of cornering her was by taking her daughter, and using whatever methods it would take to lure the Night Elf Farstrider to their despicable trap. Torture/loss of innocence story. Rather graphic.


Sarlinia-Grace ran along through the paths of the Ghostlands with her mentor, Deranar, holding her standard beginner's Farstrider bow eagerly. Her ovular eyes shone bright with eagerness, and the fresh, spritely feeling of youth emanated from her. Bouncy black hair, the white streak sometimes hiding under the mass of ebony-coloured curls, gorgeous, flawless skin, tainted only by the rough bruise after another attempt to successfully climb a tree, she was everything a young girl should be. The Blood Elf's life was about to change forever, only she didn't know it yet. All she'd hoped to do was have Deranar take her to the Night Elven lakes, which had been cleared of the Kal'dorei earlier that week, show her how to shoot flying game, then bring her back to her adoptive Night Elf mother, Lydia, who would have salmon steaks and roast potato tubers waiting for her dinner, possibly followed by a round of chocolate biscuits if her Farstrider Watch was better than satisfactory.

Sarlinia-Grace, who was always best known as Sarlin, had an arrow notched at all times, already equipping the eternal vigilance of a huntress. Deranar, a tall, bronzed man with black hair tied back in a ponytail, was a Farstrider and her mentor, taught her how to shoot and how to stay alert. He smiled down at the child with pride.

"You really do take after your mother, don't you?" he said fondly.

Sarlin nodded. "We've been here for two years now. Mother said that the Farstriders used to be suspicious of her at first because she's a Night Elf, but now they all like her, especially Emberyn Velane. I like Ember's daughter. Have you ever met Aylis?"

Deranar's ear twitched. "The little golden-haired one?"

"Uh huh. I'm teaching her how to set snares and tell poisoned berries from edible ones," Sarlin said proudly.

"How _do _you tell them apart?" Deranar asked.

"Well, there's no real secret to it. All plants are different. Some are poisonous and some aren't. I guess you just have to read up about them. One taste of the wrong berry and you'd be dead in a heartbeat. Some of the poisons act extremely quickly. Mother thinks it was tainted by the Scourge. I don't know, though. There were plants like that in Teldrassil, too,"

Deranar blinked, impressed with her knowledge. "You certainly have wisdom beyond your years, Sarlin,"

Sarlin grinned, baring her sharp, snowy teeth. "What I like best about the poisoned berries, actually, is that you can use it at the tips of your arrows," she said, stopping to gather a cluster of dark blue berries with a blood-red juice. "Better than stirring up a poison from scratch, and they'd kick in pretty quickly,"

"How do you know so much about poison, Sarlinia-Grace?" Deranar said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Sarlin growled. "Don't call me that! It's Sarlin!"

"Whatever, Sarls," Deranar said playfully, ruffling her hair while she pouted. "So, how?"

Sarlin shrugged. "I dunno, really. I guess, sometimes when Mother's away, I read those edible plant books on our shelf. I was fascinated very quickly. Poison is such an interesting topic to view…think about it. The world we live in has actually provided us with the means to be rid of it,"

"That's…rather bizarre, Lin," Deranar said.

Sarlin shrugged. "It's how it is. When I'm older, I want to be an alchemist. I want to create deadly poisons and healing potions and all kinds of things to help with combat. I also want to be an archer…and a Paladin…and use all that when I train to be a Farstrider,"

Deranar laughed, leading her to the lake where the Night Elves were camped before they were wiped out. "Focus on your youth, Sarlin. You don't have much of it left, by the looks of things,"

"Nobody even _knows _how old I am, though. I can just pretend I'm, like, ten forever," Sarlin said, fluttering her long, extravagant lashes and giggling. "So…there was a Night Elf party camped here, huh?"

She looked up at Deranar to see his face had turned grave. Curious, she asked "What's up?"

Deranar frowned. "I can't say that all the Night Elves have the same intentions, Sarlin. Your mother is one of the kindest, most caring people I can honestly say I've ever met. In terms of her people, however, she's sadly one of very few exceptions. The Kal'dorei have been trying to smite our name since Kael'Thas betrayed us,"

"Is that why you had to kill them?" Sarlin asked.

Deranar's face turned sad. "They killed some of our numbers, including Ember's love. He didn't live long enough to even meet his daughter,"

"Oh," Sarlin said sadly. "That's a shame,"

Meanwhile over the lake rested two of the Kal'dorei that the Farstriders hadn't reached, or even knew about. A man and a woman, brother and sister, with wicked intentions and natures far from logic. The man was young and somewhat handsome, grass-coloured hair scraped back with a piece of red wire, and a plaited beard. In a small pack, he held several deadly poisons and ones more for intended pain and long-lasting infection. Easily concocted with the Scourge-corrupted plants at every turn in the Ghostlands, and easily planted into a starving Farstrider's tureen of cold soup. His name was Teldrathar, apparently named in honour of Teldrassil, the homeland of the Night Elves. He was devious but quiet, hated the infliction of pain for answers, and acted largely under the will of Darnassira, his older sister. Darnassira, often abbreviated Darnassir, named after Darnassus, was a cruel, despicable woman, who looked very much like her brother, excepting her sharp nose, her emphasized, evil smirk and the harsh, chilling glow of her eager, penetrative eyes. She held a long, sharp-edged knife over a fire, spitting on it occasionally to hear the sizzle of the contact between liquid and heat.

Teldrathar looked hesitantly as his sister. "Are you sure we should do this? She's a child, Darnassir. She doesn't know who she is,"

Darnassira smirked. "That wretched cousin of ours didn't know who she was either. Didn't stop her from scooping her up off the grass and waving bye-bye to her family, now did it?"

"Well, why not capture Lydia herself? Forget the Blood Elf?" Teldrathar suggested.

Darnassira rose from the fire, tossing the blade at a tree, which smoked and cracked in response. "Both you and I know, brother, that entering combat with Lydia Starstriker will result in severe injury, if not death, and the loss of what we returned here for; the golden broach. That heirloom belongs in our trophy room, Teldrathar, not her Farstrider's Jacket. Lydia may be our cousin, and she may be a traitorous fiend, but that does not make her stupid. If we rise to arms against her, she'll kill us. _Both of us," _

She paused, as though waiting for her brother to object, but he said nothing, so she carried on.

"That little girl is our only way to get our fortune. The blade is sharpened. The poisons are ready. We don't have to kill the Blood Elf, just cause enough racket for Lydia to come running. Then we'll see who makes the wise decision,"

Pain flickered across Teldrathar's eyes as he handed the poisons to Darnassira. "You truly think our cousin will hear the screams?"

A look of absolute, complete evil stained Darnassira's face. "Oh, we'll make sure she does," she said as she coated the smouldering knives in poison as a vile hunger flashed across her eyes. Chuckling, she dipped an arrow into one of the poisons and notched it, ready to take aim.

Deranar sensed activity across the lake and readied his shield, placing it over his heart. Sarlin was quick in his defence.

"Deranar? What's happening?" she asked nervously, drawing her bow.

"Shh…" he hushed, ushering her back with his hand.

Sarlin stepped back, completely unaware of the dream-haunting, mind-scarring ordeal that awaited her. She looked up to Deranar, feeling safe under his mentorship, certain, in her little girl's mind, that nothing bad could happen to her while he protected her.

She was wrong.

She'd looked ahead of her just in time to see the arrow flying, supposedly from nowhere, towards Deranar's neck. The amount of time that had passed since she had seen it appear out of the void and into the air towards the life of the only safety she knew she had out here could only have been a second. Deranar's death wasn't the first she'd witnessed; a brief image of the sunny-skinned Farstrider brought back into the main camp, dying as Lydia dragged her daughter away screaming and flailing, flashed before her and the same panic she had experienced then crushed her throat as she collapsed beside her mentor's body, ripping the arrow from his throat. All she could do was pant and gasp, trying to scream but not having the voice to do so as the blood spurted out from the wound and all over her hands. Breathless with fear, she rested her head down, trying to find some way out, but seeing only a dark entity before her. That was when she felt herself being lifted up by her hair.

The house they dragged her to was secluded, coated in webs, the floor wet with blood and dirt. All the while, Darnassira clamped her hand over Sarlin's mouth to stop her drawing attention from the nearby Farstriders, even though she was past the point of screaming, while Teldrathar, under her will, followed closely, regret flickering across his bloodshot eyes. He was devious, but one thing he could never stand for was unnecessarily harming a child.

When they were sure it was clear, Darnassira pushed Sarlin to the ground and knelt down beside her, pinning her there by her throat while pressing a knee painfully into one arm, grappling the other with her free hand, and ignoring the bloodcurdling cries that were struggling to escape the young elf's lips. She chuckled in despicable delight, absorbed in the cold fear of the child's fel-green eyes.

Harshly, she spat. "We know who you are, little girl. Now, where is your mother?"

Sarlin choked and kicked hysterically, sweat and tears lining her face. With the cold, sharp nails digging into her neck, she could hardly breathe, let alone talk. All she cared about was getting out of there alive, but she had no knowledge of these two people or their intentions, and didn't know that her anguished wails were their sustenance, not their weakness.

Upon learning Sarlin was unable to give an answer, Teldrathar stepped in. "Darnassir, think about what-"

She cut him off almost immediately, jamming her elbow into Sarlin's throat and giving her a chance to recompose herself. "Now, listen here, missy. You stop that crying immediately, or we'll give you something to cry for. Understand!?"

Unable to speak with fear, Sarlin's bright, streaming eyes glowed with fear and she nodded as best she could.

"Good," Darnassira said coldly. "Now, I'll ask you again. Where is your mother?"

Sarlin choked, her forehead bruising with the impact of her head on the doorframe. "I…s-she's a-at the m-main gates o-of Windrunner V-village," she croaked hoarsely, shivering under Darnassira's grip.

The Night Elf looked up from Sarlin and to her brother, shaking her head. "There were Farstrider's swarming the place when I checked there last,"

"There's only four guarding the main gates," Teldrathar put in. "If we could just-"

"No! We're not risking it, Teldrathar!" she pondered for a moment. "The gates aren't too far from here,"

"Well, what if more of them come, Darnassir!? What if she brings a whole party? Then what do we-"

Interrupting again, she spat "You don't know that woman like I do. She has a thing for saving people. Always has to be the hero, doesn't she…"

Teldrathar swallowed, becoming more and more reluctant by the minute. Sarlin turned to him, her eyes wet and wide, terrified, and his heart cracked.

"Darnassir, please! She's a child!" he retorted desperately. "She doesn't know any better!"

Darnassira didn't heed. "The knives, brother," she ordered.

"Darnassir…" he began.

"The knives!" she yelled in response, having trouble pinning the writhing elf to the ground.

Teldrathar glared with contempt at his sister, before tossing her the array of knives, still smouldering with heat and poison. "May Elune have mercy on your soul, sister…"

Darnassira shrugged. "I didn't make the poisons. Let's just hope that little bitch hears…"

Relishing in Sarlin's growing fear, Darnassira smirked a vilely as she took the smoking blade and pierced it slowly but deeply into the Blood Elf's arm.

The effect was almost immediate and highly satisfying to Darnassira's ears, while Teldrathar stood, trembling and resentful towards his sister. Sarlin's cries of agony echoed throughout the tiny, crumbling building and Darnassira dragged the burning knife all the way down her arm, cutting to the bone, watching with lust in her sparkling white eyes as the sizzling blood scalded the ripped, smoking flesh on her arm. Tears fell sideways down Sarlin's snow-white face as she screamed, screwing her eyes shut, struggling and flailing desperately, powerless against a warrior with millennia of experience and strength against dragons, plague and demons. The pain was unlike any she'd ever known, and while she knew of the resentment the Kal'dorei held against her kind, she couldn't understand what she'd done to earn such a fate. Darnassira, knowing that there was nothing else to draw Lydia Starstriker to them, dragged the knife in again, right beside the wound she'd just inflicted, chuckling menacingly as the child howled in pain.

Their ploy worked as expected, and Sarlin's screams were just about heard from the main "gates" or borders, of Windrunner Village, where Lydia was stationed, her axe at hand. On hearing the cries and recognizing them as her daughter's, instinct drove her towards its source as the tongues of fear licked at her throat like the raging spread of a fire. She'd left her child with an experienced mentor…was he a traitor, a liar? Was he hurting Sarlin? Or were those anguished cries a result of another treacherous infliction? Gripping the axe, her panic guided her towards the former Scourge-ridden building, following the only trail her daughter left in her wake. Upon arriving, the scene that greeted her eyes and, shortly later, mind, almost caused her to collapse. Darnassira and Teldrathar Starstriker, holding her Blood Elf daughter despicably as prisoner, using her pain as a magnet for Lydia's care. Every drop of her daughter's blood that lined the floor indicated that she was another drop too late.

Darnassira, aware of Lydia's arrival, had already worked in four bone-deep, smouldering gashes. She picked Sarlin up by the hair and jammed the knife into her throat, while Teldrathar charged for Lydia, pinning her back against the wall. The Farstrider was smart enough to not fight back, and let Darnassira speak.

"You know why we're here, cousin," she said.

Lydia spat in horror. "Torturing a child for nobody's benefit but your own…you haven't changed much, Darnassir,"

"No, I haven't. And you've changed completely…you gave up everything you had for this fel-corrupted waste. And you took something of ours with you…"

Teldrathar tapped his hand on the broach clipped to Lydia's Farstrider jacket. The thing was beautiful, pure gold and in the shame of a bird. It must've been worth thousands.

"Just give us the broach, Lydia, and she'll let her go," Teldrathar hissed.

Lydia glowered at him, ripping the broach from her jacket and handing it to him while he pulled back from her. "I expected better of you, Teldrathar. We all know you were never one to hurt children,"

He gripped the broach tightly, his brow furrowing. Lydia couldn't be sure, but she was half-certain she saw the sparkle of a tear in her cousin's eyes. "I go by my name, not by my nature,"

Lydia pushed him aside and walked slowly towards Darnassira, who still held the scorching sword to Sarlin's throat. She chuckled menacingly. "Are you sure you want to risk it? Do it and I'll kill you after I'm done with her," she hissed, twisting Sarlin's hair like a rope while she whimpered, running the knife across her shoulder.

"Enough of this insanity, Darnassir! You have what you want! Now…release her," she reasoned.

Darnassira had a slight moment's hesitation, then tossed Sarlin onto the filth-ridden ground. "You're not entirely unpredictable, Lydia. You'd give up the only treasure of value you have left for a child. May you two have a wondrous life together…"

Spitting at the ground, she stormed past Lydia, slashing her cousin's arm as she went. Teldrathar remained behind, trembling.

"Lydia…" he whispered, grabbing her arm, but she wrenched herself free of his grasp, kneeling down beside her shivering little girl.

"May the Gods leave only destruction in your wake, cousin," she glowered, ignoring the flowing wound on her arm. "Go. Now,"

Teldrathar ran with all his sincere regret stuck like a shard on his lips, and Lydia was alone with her daughter. Willing herself to remain strong, she cradled the shivering child, inspecting the inflicted wounds while Sarlin sobbed hysterically. The bone-deep gashed were cut from halfway to her shoulder, all the way down to her wrists, and the fourth stopped harshly before her hand. The blood pumped out of them rapidly, creating a pool at her knees, and a vile, yellowish-green infection was already starting to form; she knew Teldrathar's poisons all too well. Deep down, she knew her cousins would have to die for this, whether she got the broach back or not. Despite Teldrathar's open regret, he would have to die too, with that shard latched on his lips forever.

Scooping her screaming child into her arms, her heart cracked. Sarlin was at the age where comfort would not suffice. She was overwhelmed, confused and scared, and just wanted to know why. With tears in her starlit eyes, she ran a hand through Sarlin's hair as she carried her back to Tranquillien, willing her mind to mute the sounds of her soft, broken whimpers and howls and failing, hearing them only in deeper detail.

"Shh, my child…it's all okay now…I'm here, I've got you," she whispered, hearing no response but cries of agony.

As she returned, she merely learned that the worst was to come. Hurriedly reporting the incident to the captain, she impulsively ordered the death of her cousins and let Sarlin in the possession of an experienced medic, staying with her and holding her hand as the wounds were cleaned, stitched and bandaged. All the while, the pain was enough to evoke screams that pierced into Lydia's head like a dagger, and guilt, sadness and fear enveloped her mind as she ran a trembling hand across her daughter's forehead, whispering "Shh…I'm here, just focus on me. Don't look at them, look at me,"

By the time her wounds were finally healed, she was drugged and carried to the infirmary, with other injured Farstriders, to a large bed where Lydia held her tightly, finally breaking down and weeping for the pain of her child and the evil of her cousins, in guilt, despair and rage, inconsiderate to the suffering Farstriders, focused only on the drying, river-shaped stains that now crumbed on Sarlin's face. All the while, she whispered soothing, soft words as though Sarlin could hear her, and as any sleepless hours came to pass, her sadness turned to rage and she eagerly awaited word on the deaths of Darnassira and Teldrathar Starstriker.

A few days later, a courier appeared with the golden broach and the assured fall of her cousins. Lydia sold the broach and with it, bought a small house in Eversong Woods, donating the rest towards the rebirth of Silvermoon. Sarlin's mental state had deteriorated rapidly at this stage. Afraid to leave the safety of her own home, she holed herself in and refused to step a foot outside the door and, even weeks later, awoke frequently with horrific nightmares. The wounds on her skin took about a month to heal leaving jagged, deep scars that everyone knew would remain on her skin forever.

Some asked Lydia of the actions of her cousins and she said truthfully, while Darnassira was vile and evil, Teldrathar, while of the same mind, had no intentions of hurting Sarlin. She also stated that she didn't regret his death, although deep down, she did. She wished that she'd heeded him, if only for a moment, but at her feet lay her suffering, poisoned daughter, and what else could she feel but rage?

For a long time after, Sarlin penned herself up and spent several hours on her own, drawing pictures, suffering flashbacks, and looking for some way to repair the emotional damage inflicted on her, seeing only the blank walls of a small room staring back in answer.

Whatever the moral may be, Sarlin came close to never trusting another soul again, and Lydia's hatred for her people only grew. A young child was robbed off her innocence that day, and with it went the heart of the only person she cared about.


End file.
